


Sleepless

by omg_wtf_yeah



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: mcsheplets, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-23
Updated: 2011-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omg_wtf_yeah/pseuds/omg_wtf_yeah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has trouble sleeping and Rodney knows how to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepless

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [McSheplets](http://community.livejournal.com/mcsheplets/) Challenge #88 (Sleep). This was inspired by the song Sleep by Conjure One (included in 's McKay/Sheppard fanmix, Never Is A Promise).

Despite the many neuroses he’s claimed for the benefit of girlfriends past, Rodney’s not the one who has trouble sleeping after a particularly close call. It’s John, not Rodney, outside his door just after eleven, standing with a six pack against his knee and a forced grin on his mouth.

“I thought you might be coming by,” Rodney says, his chin lifting then dropping as he eyes the offering.

At Rodney’s words (or maybe his expression), annoyance briefly flickers in John’s hazel eyes. “Unless you’re not feeling up to it,” he says a little sarcastically.

Rodney rolls his eyes. “Please,” he scoffs, “it’s sex we’re talking about here. I think I’m pretty much up to anything you’re planni—”

John’s eyes flash wide and surprised that Rodney’s mentioning sex in a hallway (vacant or otherwise) and they narrow again in the space of a second. Then John is in Rodney’s space and Rodney is no longer in the doorway. They’re backing up, John’s hands on Rodney’s chest, their knees bumping awkwardly as he moves forward.

“Good, then,” John replies. “I guess I don’t have to hold back on your account.”

Rodney’s voice is muffled by John’s lips. “Like you…if y…tried.” And he knows how this will go – John’s hands skimming down his arms and settling on his waist, not pulling too hard as he makes like his namesake and leads Rodney to the bed. The taste and pressure of John’s lips on his are familiar, the beer forgotten on the edge of the table as they passed it. One kiss leads to another and another until Rodney’s face is hot and John seems close to breaking, filling Rodney up with all the manic energy he holds onto.

Rodney’s palms slide over his skin, smoothing over the Colonel’s neck and cup his cheeks as he slows it way down. The touch says, “I know, okay? There’s no reason to worry. We came back all right.” Ronon’s still in the infirmary with a stab wound from the field, but they’re in Atlantis and they can trust her to protect their family.

Somehow, John understands the way no one else would and for a moment, his body is tight as a bow string and, just as suddenly, the tension breaks. His muscles relax against Rodney, lithe and liquid as a cat, and he’s murmuring against Rodney’s neck, fitting them together.

Rodney doesn’t listen out of politeness. It’s something he hasn’t done for anyone else before but he does it for John.

He lies back first, falling back into his overpriced orthopedic mattress by margins of millimeters until he’s down. They can barely do this in John’s tiny Lantean-approved bed, but Rodney’s is long and wide enough. It’s clumsy, but Rodney shifts, grimacing against John’s mouth, and when he slides his knees apart, John is thrown off balance.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says between kisses and John answers with a warning look that Rodney guesses (internally) is kind of fair given the lack of notice.

“A little warning next time,” John huffs without heat, pulling his black button-up off and discarding it blindly behind him.

Rodney kisses the long column of John’s neck and answers, “You were fine.”

“An inch to the left and my ass would be on the ground right now, McKay.”

The corner of Rodney’s mouth curves. “Isn’t that what all that training is about?” he asks.

John presses forward into him, covering his mouth with wet kisses. “Sure, McKay,” he quips between kisses, “it’s all for bedroom games.”

Despite John’s light tone, Rodney can tell from his kisses that John wants to get closer. It’s about the sex but it’s not just about the sex. It’s about almost losing again. It’s about Ronon growling through gritted teeth as he pulled the knife out of his side and the blank shock in Teyla’s eyes as she stared for a split second at Ronon’s blood on her hands. Rodney pulls him closer and presses the inside of his thigh tight to John’s side, using his entire leg to clumsily stroke John’s hip, offering the contact John needs. “Do you…?” he asks, still florid.

“Yeah, yeah,” John replies breathlessly. “Get this junk off.” He tugs half-heartedly at Rodney’s dark gray t-shirt.

“Junk,” Rodney sniffs, but obliges with nominal complaint.

“If you really knew I was coming over….”

“Oh, brother.” But at this point, this is a little less than a ritual, a lot more than a coincidence. And Rodney can’t believe he’d ever failed to realize the depth and breadth of need in this man. The first time they’d kissed, it was like John had never been touched in his life, like he’d built a dam up to restrain all the “want” in him. In some ways, they’re similar.

He lays his hands on John’s back and John arches against him, rolling every vertebra, until Rodney can feel the pressure of his erection through John’s wrinkled pants and Rodney’s boxers. Rodney lifts off the bed, spreading his legs apart. John slips his hand under the waist band, stroking him, every stroke taking Rodney’s breath away, until he’s hot and unhinged, his boxers in the crook of one knee (and that took some maneuvering), his dick leaking in the Colonel’s hand.

“Just-now, anytime actually, if you wanted, you could…”

John’s fingers, wet with ejaculate and lubricant, slip between his cheeks and press, pause, stroke deeply. The ministration sends shivering sensations through him. Every time he squirms, John squirms back, his green eyes low-lidded.

Rodney holds John there with one hand on his hip, the other on his member, holding John together. He moans shakily when John fingers the place inside him that breaks him apart.

John’s more careful with Rodney than he is when he’s the one being opened. He asks, “Okay? Right now?” after what feels like forever and what is probably a couple minutes.

Rodney just nods his head and spreads his legs apart, for once not effusive and loud-mouthed. “Yes, now, just…now’s good, yes.”

John gives a small nod, the look on his face almost stressed, and he presses a hand flat over Rodney’s heart as he takes himself in one hand. The head of his dick kisses Rodney’s ass and John pushes in. He bites his lip, color spreading over his chest and up his neck. “Rodney.” His voice is a thin, strained whimper.

Rodney’s inner thighs twinge and he closes them around John. It’s almost as much about holding him as it is finding a better position. He shifts, moving his hips and gasps, saying John’s name. He feels the words “I love you” on the tip of his tongue against the back of his teeth and he can feel John’s reply without saying it.

John’s moan sounds both triumphant and mournful. His back bows as he fills Rodney. Tremors run down the length of his body. He pants quietly. The sweat on his stomach and his silver dog tags gleam in the dim light of the bedside lamp.

Rodney slides his hand up the curve of John’s spine, up to his neck, and pulls John closer. It pains his thighs when John leans over him but Rodney kisses him anyway. And John is inside him, pushing forward, pulling out. Rodney feels John’s lips on his shoulder and the weight of the Colonel’s palm over his heart.

Then John’s hips jerk as he starts coming, sagging over Rodney as he rocks his hips into him harder and faster and Rodney is trying not to cry out because the walls are surprisingly thin and he gets weird looks sometimes from his neighbor but, what the hell, he lets himself call out. John trembles against him, supporting himself on one hand over Rodney’s head as Rodney sloppily jerks himself.

Rodney’s face is buried in John’s damp hair when he comes. And after the swell of sensation rushes through him, Rodney realizes that John’s still inside him, John’s shoulder still against Rodney’s collarbone. It’s this side of uncomfortable, which is more discomfort than Rodney tends to willingly endure.

He strokes John’s ruffled hair. He’s never sure if he’ll mess it all up and say the wrong thing, but John’s been coming by for half a year now and the only thing that’s changed is that it’s better. He swallows difficultly. “Okay?” he asks quietly. So many seconds pass, he doesn’t think John will actually answer, then John says against his shoulder, “Okay.”


End file.
